Stowaway
by jennii.b
Summary: An American pilot is downed in Moldova & eventually reaches Murmansk, stowing away aboard the Red October with the ultimate goal of launching an inflatable & flagging down a ship from home. (Mancuso: You happened to pick the only sub in the Russian navy intent on defection? / Austin: Yessir...) ((Some book, some movie))
1. Chapter 1

They'd been travelling for four days as best as the American aboard could tell. Time enough to make her move, she reckoned.

There was a silenced pistol in Captain 2nd Rank Vasili Aleksander Borodin's face when he awoke from his sleep. It was not his favorite way to start a watch.

"You will help me now, Captain," the woman told him in near-perfect Russian. In response the executive officer ran his tongue consideringly over his bottom teeth.

"And what is it you want?" he asked. She jerked the gun, drawing it back toward her own body. Borodin took this to mean that he should sit up. He did so slowly, his eyes still on hers as he reached to button first his shirt, then his uniform tunic. He'd slept two hours-nearly a full 'night' for him while on a cruise. She watched his face, not his hands. The man wondered what showed on it. Perching on the edge of the bunk he rested his hands on his knees. Close to her own opposite him. Closer to her hands and the weapon.

"I need to get off this boat," she told him. He scoffed at her. It was not very likely as they were submerged beneath the Atlantic and days out from any foreign port, even at top speed.

"How did you get on it?" he asked.

She arched an eyebrow. "Does it matter? Let's go." Again she jerked the gun, this time toward the door. At the same time she moved toward the rear of the cabin, farther away from him in the close confines.

Vasili took in the black bag sitting beside the hatch. Obviously she'd decided that now was the best time for her disembarkment and meant to take her things with her. But how the devil had she gotten into his quarters and where had she been hiding?

"You expect us to take you to any port you wish?" he asked.

"I expect that you carry life rafts and that we're fairly near Allied hunting grounds. Now, _let's go, Captain_."

Borodin nodded and stood up. "You are defecting?" Her accent reminded him of a German he'd met once. And, circumstances what they were, defection came immediately to mind.

She snorted. "I sound like a Soviet, then? Great. Just what I need. I'm going home, Comrade." She switched to English. "I'm an American."

Borodin swung around to look at her. Perhaps, he decided. The gun was certainly American. The nondescript bag could have been borne by anyone, anywhere and not drawn attention. The only certainty was the fear in her eyes.

"You've been here a long time, maybe?" he asked in English.

"_Please_," she begged. Her knees swayed with it. "I'm tired. I'm hungry. I'm ready to _go._ I just want to use one of your life rafts. Forget that I'm here. Forget you saw me or heard my voice. We can wait until you're certain there's no witnesses. I bear you and your men no ill will. Just let me out of your hatch, give me a reasonable chance of survival, and you can go about your mission."

"How will you get to America?" he asked, his hands resting lightly on the crown of his head, fingers laced together now. "Our boats are big and could not be handled by one small woman. They have no motors and you cannot be certain where you are. What do you plan to do after you're off the ship?"

"So long as the KGB isn't after me anymore, I don't care. I can certainly live for a week or so on your life boat, provided it doesn't capsize, if that's how long it takes to signal a merchant vessel or passing military ship."

"And you will wave your white flag and they will let you aboard?" he scoffed at her. She rolled her eyes, then jerked her head. She wasn't telling him that her grand plan included nothing more than using a mirror or a flashlight to signal an SOS. It really wasn't that much more sensible than his sarcastic suggestion. But this had been laid on fast and hard and she was making up her own breaks as she went along.

Inwardly she cursed when the handle to the gangway clicked softly. Someone was preparing to enter the small, already crowded room.

Borodin saw it, heard it, and made his move. Both hands came down on her arm, wrists sending the weapon skidding across the metal floor. His elbow came up, driving into the side of her face, as his body slammed into hers.

Cayes's face hit a support post for the bunk opposite Borodin's own. She hit hard, unable to find purchase. She felt her arm wrench as the man realized he'd overshot his goal and tried to grab for her. The motion sent her to the floor, Borodin following. When Ramius opened the door his second in command was kneeling on the floor, one hand securing both of her wrists, the other shoving against her shoulder so that she was flat on the floor.

"I suppose there's an interesting story to be told here," he surmised flatly in English, unaware that it was the young woman's first tongue.

"Fuck off," she shot back, grimacing in pain. Borodin had managed with very little effort to pull an elbow damn near out of socket and cause unbelievable pain to her face.

"We seem to have a stowaway," Borodin ground out at his superior, who had entered and then quickly shut the door behind him.

"Excellent. We can produce her as the saboteur. Too bad we already killed Putin. He would have loved this." Ramius turned to leave.

"Captain!"

Ramius turned to look down again at Borodin, whose face was incredulous. The man's eyes were wide and his breath was coming in deep bellows. It wasn't over-exertion. It was the verge of a panic attack.

"What do I do now?"

"Well, hell, Vasili, I don't know. Do you want to kill her or keep her like a pet?" It was obvious that the Captain had already decided that they had to do the first. The sarcasm was more than the over-stressed man wanted to deal with just then.

"She is an American."

"I gathered that from the expression. Anyone else would have told me to 'bugger' off instead."

Borodin switched to Russian. It was easier. "She wanted to be placed in an emergency boat so that she could be picked up and returned to her homeland."

Ramius knew the expression on the younger man's face. It was innocent hope. One would have thought he'd have outgrown his desire for the world to be a better place. But then, if he had he wouldn't have been there. "And you think that we should somehow keep her hidden until we make our move." It wasn't a question.

"Forget it," Cayes said in English. "I don't know how you're planning to get yourself and a hundred men off this boat and onto American shores, but there's no way. You're going to cross a line and get blown out of the water. Or if you abandon ship you'll get picked up by the coast guard and returned to your officials. It's going to be bad."

"Your pet has a big mouth," Ramius responded in Russian.

"Bigger ears it would seem," Borodin observed. The commanding officer's mind was already racing ahead. She'd heard enough conversation to guess some of their plan.

"How long have you known about our guest?" Ramius asked.

"Captain!" His expression now was hurt, the older man noted. "I only just found out."

"When she announced her presence?"

Borodin nodded. "I woke with her firearm in my face."

Ramius laughed. "Very well done!" His decision was no easier. He admired the ability of the spy to sneak aboard his ship and hide under their very noses for most of a week. And he admired her methods, although obviously she should have planned something better, else she wouldn't be pinned to the bulkhead beneath his fairly large executive officer. The old man shook his head. "The others will have to know, Vasili," he said sorrowfully. "It will have to be partially their decision as well."


	2. Chapter 2

Borodin nodded. He didn't trust this imp of Satan even as far as he could throw her. But killing her for wanting to return to her homeland didn't sit well with him. It had been easier to think of their zampoliti as the enemy than this woman. Ramius bent, opening Borodin's footlocker and removing a spare belt. He gestured for the man to get up, then the woman.

Both watched as she rolled to her side, favoring her arm and ignoring the vicious throbbing of her face as she got to her knees. Borodin slid his arm under the bunk to retrieve the weapon she'd threatened him with while she carefully got to her feet.

"Turn around, put your arms behind you, my dear," Ramius ordered gently. "I apologize for the inconvenience, but we are going to be very wary with you I am afraid." He reached down to secure first one wrist in the belt, then reached for the other, which she was slower in moving. Borodin watched; the starpom saw when she didn't cry out in pain.

"Captain, wait!" he called urgently. He stood quickly, reaching for the limb himself. This time Cayes couldn't contain the gasp as he probed his way up the arm.

"It would appear that you've damaged her," Ramius noted when his man met his eyes. His breath hissed out and he turned to pace. He didn't have time for this. Borodin's eyes continued up, searching that face again. It was too mismatched to be beautiful, too strong to be pretty. She was shorter than he by several inches. Her form was good, pleasing to a man, with heavy breasts and round hips beneath the navy blue work suit she wore. Her feet and hands seemed tiny; her fingers, held gently in his left hand as he had moved his right over the bones and tendons and muscles, those fingers were long and soft. Her face was elfin. Too-large eyes of raw hazel-sable rimmed in green with flashes of silver-stared out from a thick fringe of black lashes. There were circles beneath her eyes like bruises on her pale cheeks. They would have been finely wrought but for the severe swelling he'd caused when he bashed her face. The corner of her right eye was disappearing behind the puffiness of the high cheekbone. The side of her forehead was also beginning to change color rapidly and the full bottom lip showed evidence of blood where her teeth had lacerated the tender feature.

"There's no help for it. We cannot endanger our plan by taking her straight to the doctor. Miss, I am afraid you will have to suffer a bit while your fate is decided. An undershirt, Vasili," Ramius held his hand out. "We will simply have to bind the joint as best we can for now. Perhaps the pain will be a deterrent to escape for our extra crewmate."

Ramius expertly ripped the extended cotton shirt, creating long strips to wrap around her elbow. Cayes's stomach turned over several times during the process. She didn't cry out, although her stoic attitude hardly won her any favors from the men attending her. Her finely tuned plan was crashing around her in sickening waves.

"Sit here, at the foot of the bed," Ramius told her. He had taken up the belt again. "Rest your arm on your lap or knees, whichever is more comfortable." He waited while she did as ordered, then reached for the uninjured arm, stretching it over her head and lashing it to the upper bunk. "Another," he ordered Vasili, who handed him a handkerchief rather than another belt. Ramius lifted an eyebrow.

"I've only two, Comrade Captain," the man explained. Ramius shook his head and continued to do so while he rearranged his captive, using the handkerchief above her head and strapping the belt around the woman's upper right arm before securing it to the bedframe beside her.

"I hope that that keeps you in your place while we're gone," he told her. He frowned ferociously at her from narrowed eyes as he stood. Her face was indeed turning shades not normally associated with cheeks and brow bones. His second had certainly done a job on her in very little time. He only wondered if the man standing beside him would have had the same protective instincts toward a man in the same position. Still, no harm had been done yet to his master scheme as far as he knew. If the American was really a spy escaping mother Russian then so be it. She would be welcomed by her country as a hero for bringing in the Red October.

"Come, now," he announced finally. "We will be late and your mother will worry," Ramius told Borodin. It was a joke as the youngest member of their crew often sought out the older man, chiding him and fussing over him much like a wife or mother would.

In the wardroom Ramius closed the door behind himself and the other man and chuckled. "Would anyone like to know what Captain Borodin's nap was like this afternoon? Captain Borodin lay down to rest a short while ago and found himself kidnapped by an elf no bigger than your coffee cup, Melekhin."

There were chuckles as the officers gathered thought appropriate. Coupled with curious looks as the big man ducked his head and seemed to blush.

"And where is your elfkin now?" Melekhin asked his partner in crime. They'd been busy, busy men of late.

"Would you believe she's tied to his bed, awaiting his return most eagerly?" Ramius answered before the other man could.

"I believe it's time to move the _medicinal_ vodka elsewhere, Comrade Captain," Buyadin responded. The meeting was lighthearted now. It would get heavier in just a moment.

Ramius snapped his fingers. "That's what we should have done, Vasili Aleksander. We should have gotten her singing drunk and trussed her my way despite the fact that you nearly ripped her arm off and caved her face in."

Borodin found his voice. "I came awake with a stowaway in my cabin," he told the table at large. "I simply disarmed her."

Chaos ensued. Ramius was the one to calm them down by stepping toward the table and laying his hands flat on the surface. The bickering and wondering and exclamations died down. "Borodin's would-be attacker is an American citizen seeking a way off the mainland."

"She's running from KGB," he interrupted. Ramius acknowledged this with a nod. "Much as we would be upon returning. This one sought the use of one of our inflatables so that she might signal a passing enemy boat and receive passage back to America."

"Why not wait until we get there to make herself known?" Melekhin asked. "To attack a man much larger than herself makes no sense."

"Unfortunately the elfkin is not privy to our entire plan and holds little confidence in its success. While she speaks Russian beautifully-as a true Soviet-she has missed parts of the concept. And she seems to think that the entire crew is in on it."

Uproar resumed. "She cannot be allowed near them!" "She will ruin everything!" "They cannot know!"

"And should she turn out to be reasonable?" Ramius asked. "Would you then feel comfortable allowing her to escape with us?"

Bugayev's jaw worked back and forth. "How did she end up on the wrong side of the KGB?" he asked. "And did they track her this far?"

Ramius had no answer for the first. "I assume that if the KGB had suspicions of her presence that they would have alerted us one way or another. We've no evidence that this has been attempted."

Melekhin nodded slowly, staring into his coffee. "How badly is she hurt?" he asked. When Ramius lifted his eyebrows he explained. "I agree that we should not let her wander freely around the sub. For many reasons. If only because the men will talk about it when we put them off. If we say only that a dissident was found we can point to her-or not even say it is a female operative-and say 'there is our saboteur'"

Kamarov shook his head. "She is in Borodin's cabin now? She stays there. There were questions, suspicions among the others when none was chosen to share his berth." They'd decided this a long time ago. Most of them had some belongings that were too precious to leave behind. The cumulated bulk of them had been stealthily brought aboard and stowed in the second's cabin. "Let them think we've brought aboard a mistress for our use-primarily your use, Comrade Captains. If she needs medical attention let it be done very very quietly." From the frown on the men's faces it was obvious they didn't like this. "Then could it be said that she is the misbegotten child of either of you? Perhaps brought aboard at the last minute to escape an abusive husband-one favored by the zampoliti?"

Ramius's consideration was clear in his eyes. "You would have had to have been very very young, wouldn't you Vasili?" he asked on a chuckle. "What do you think?"

"I will abide by whatever is decided here, Captain," the other man declared.

"Fine, then. Whispers. We will seek Petrov's advice on her injuries, swearing absolute secrecy from the man. Which we all know he won't be able to maintain for long. I expect most of you to act suitably shocked, surprised, and to even offer some hints of what else she might be."

"Why would she be in Borodin's bunking instead of your own? What man wants his daughter in another man's room?"

Ramius licked his lips. "Because of the availability of my rooms to all aboard. Too much exposure. And what man would dare touch his captain's badly beaten daughter under his very nose?" the wily captain offered.

There were nods around the table. "Now, we have other matters to discuss and not so much time as we anticipated," Ramius announced.


	3. Chapter 3

"Petrov," he called softly as they left the room in twos and threes. He was one of the last out and espied the medical officer in the hall. "I have a favor, and a confidence, old friend."

"Of course, Comrade Captain," the medical officer gushed.

Ramius pulled him into an unoccupied corner. "I should have spoken sooner, I think," he began. "One of my children came to me very suddenly for help-just before we sailed in fact."

The doctor had heard of the 'sons' Ramius and his wife had taken in over the years. He knew that a couple of the officers aboard fell into the category.

"My daughter-"

"Daughter?" the slight man gasped.

Ramius looked around furtively and pulled him closer. "A daughter was born to me by a dancer many years ago. My Natalia would not have understood," he explained, silently begging his wife's forgiveness. "Her mother is a Romanov. It wouldn't do, would it Pavel, for the Lithuanian half-breed to father a child on a Romanov?"

Petrov's weasely face twisted into a knowing smile, enjoying the moment although he dared not mock his commanding officer too much. "A gypsy lover, Comrade Captain? No, perhaps keeping the child secret was the correct thing to do if you wanted to advance as your father did."

"She received monetary support from me of course, and we have maintained a distant closeness. Such that when she was offered marriage by a young man from a good family I met the young man and approved the match. I wish now that I had not." Petrov's eyes were wide. He licked his lips in anticipation. "Had she come to me sooner I would have killed the pup. As it is, she barely caught me and I didn't have time to think through my actions."

"You wish to break silence to check on her?" Petrov guessed.

Ramius shook his head and looked down at his feet. "No, comrade. My rashness is more dire, I am afraid. For I brought her onto the ship-" He met the other man's gaze, making his own face frantic and clutching harder at his arm. "I had no choice. He'd used his fists on her and she'd run to me! What was I to do? Send her away and then leave myself, not knowing if he would find her and punish her more severely? She is my only offspring-my true child-have you children, Petrov?"

Petrov nodded. His wife had borne him two fine sons and a daughter already. His children were eight and six and three. He thought of the way his tiny daughter, the mirror image of his wife, sought him out when he was home, climbing on his lap to tell him her conquests and despairs. Then he thought of some man marrying her someday and raising a fist to his perfect child. "I understand, Comrade Captain. Of course I understand."

"Then you will look at her?" Ramius asked on a stage-worthy sigh of relief.

"It is that bad?" the small man asked.

Ramius nodded sorrowfully. "I believe that at least her arm and possibly her cheek will require the use of the imaging devices." He could have boxed the slimy bastard's ears. The ship doctor practically rubbed his little hands together.

"I will come with you at once," he offered.

The captain thought quickly. "Let me bring her to you. In the middle of the next watch, when the men are settled and in their posts and not yet bored," he suggested.

Understanding bloomed on the other man's face. "Perfect," he hummed. As Ramius moved to back away he patted the commander's sleeve. "You can trust in me, sir. This will be secret between us."

_Odius little bastard,_ Ramius thought as he made his way to Borodin's berth. _It will be interesting who he confides in_, he decided.

Melekhin caught Borodin as the men filed out. "An elfkin tied to your bed, eh?" Because he was an old friend Borodin was not offended.

"It sounds much worse by his telling," he confided. "She is truly an American. And _he's_ the one who tied her up."

"Pity. The thought brings to mind images of a heathen beauty with red hair and nipples the size of saucers. Perhaps with high boots and some sort of green leather skirted affair. And wings, of course." The older man crossed his wrists and raised them above his head, miming a writhing captive.

Borodin shook his head but smiled. They'd only been out a few days. It was too early to start fantasizing about women in scanty outfits. "Sorry. Fully clothed. Dark hair. Tied sitting on footlocker."

"Damn," the engineer muttered. "Next time don't tell me. I like it better my way."

"Go make something glow in the dark," Borodin joked.

"Try not to drive us into a mountain," the other man called.

"I'm sorry," Borodin whispered as he entered his refuge to find his bunkmate's eyes closed. She took a deep breath before opening them. He had crouched before her, already reaching up to untie her arm.

"They decided to stuff me in a missile tube?" she asked. Her voice was like warm brandy-smooth and rich and a bit biting. She'd automatically answered in the language spoken to her. Borodin reached out his fingers to almost touch her face, breezing over the blooming spread of colors.

He shook his head. "I've never hit a woman before," he explained.

_Which doesn't answer my question._ Aloud she asked, "How many have pulled guns on you?"

"You're the first," he admitted. He'd gone to the galley for ice packs, explaining that he'd wrenched his shoulder, and now touched the makeshift first aid package gently to her cheekbone. She adjusted it, covering the eye socket that felt near to exploding. He prepared another for her elbow, nestling it himself after he released her injured limb from its bonds. "Do you want to know your cover story?" he asked.

She nodded infinitesimally. It felt like her head might fall off when she rocked it forward. Briefly he outlined what had been discussed at the meeting. In a rare show of faith he also corrected her mistake in their plan to become Americans.

"We have not included the men in our plot," he told her. "Nor even all the officers. You will mention it to no one. If I catch you talking to anyone other than the captain or myself I will arrange for it to appear you've committed suicide." He placed a finger beneath her chin and directed her attention to his face. "Mark my words. Marko Ramius is not to be trifled with. We have plans and dreams and aim to see them through. Your death would be but one more necessity. One that I would regret, but not so that I stood between you and my life of freedom."

She nodded and licked her lips. "I only want my own back," she agreed. "I will do what you ask."

Ramius knocked, then swiftly stepped in and shut the door again. "Dr. Petrov will attend you in a few hours," he announced in English.

"Hours?" Borodin asked.

He nodded. "Hours. Mid-watch, so that few are in the gangways. Have you explained?" At the twin nods he let a breath blow out his cheeks. "This is an unexpected twist, but not an unwelcome one. Are you, perchance, in your nation's service?"

"A navy pilot, Captain," she admitted.

He tried to translate this exactly since they had continued the conversation in her language. "A harbor guide or an airman?"

Cayes swallowed. Speaking hurt and she thought she heard grinding when she opened her mouth too widely. She couldn't wait until the first time a yawn or sneeze snuck up on her. "I fly a stealth bird. I'm rotary and fixed-wing qualified, any designation. My mission was to drop a team, take some photos, and beat a retreat. Instead I lost my PIC and my bird. It was one of those missions the government doesn't want to know that it's funding until the senators can brag about the results, you know? So I was pretty much on my own from Moldova out."

"How on earth did you get to Murmansk?!" Borodin interrupted.

Cayes licked her lips again. She was thirsty-probably dehydrated-and badly wanted the chapstick in her bag's pocket. And she was stubborn-too proud to ask. "The bird is invisible in flight. Once she crashed we were sending visible signals to a country that covered itself in satellite images. The attention would have gotten worse once I lit her up-"

"Illumination drawing the attention of the surrounding population?"

"High-powered pyrotechnics to obliterate everything but the frame. Not a lot of flame or smoke, but a hell of a lot of heat showing up on your thermal resolution images."

"To hide the mechanics of the system?" Ramius asked.

She nodded. "Like the suicide scuttles your side is famous for-no sense giving away technology." She shrugged. "There was no hiding that somebody had dropped in for an uninvited visit. Which meant that your border security would tighten up. Where's the closest friendly country from Moldova?"

"Turkey," both men answered at once.

She nodded. "So I ran like hell the other way." Ramius could appreciate the plan. Georgia wasn't exactly friendly territory. Why run toward a border patrolled by two countries with grudges against your flag when there was an endless vastness available to hide in until time eased the search? And she _had_ managed to sneak aboard and stay hidden on one of the country's biggest secret weapons. Still, cunning like that should have seen her able to sneak back out an easier way. Aviators. They were all crazy.


	4. Chapter 4

Borodin stayed in the cabin until Kamarov relieved him. Shortly the captain himself came in.

"She's not spoken a word," the navigator confided. "I gave her some water anyway."

"Of course, Ivanovich. That was the correct thing to do." The other man left the compartment and the captain squatted before the captive coconspirator. "I do not trust you," he told her.

"That's probably very wise. I will say again, however, that I mean you no ill will. I don't want to make trouble for you. I just want to get back where I belong."

"So important to you, is it? Returning to the land of your birth?"

She nodded. "I'm an American first. An officer second. I need to go home. And it's part of my job description that should I find myself in enemy territory I will do my best to return."

"Why have you not provided us with your big four?" he asked.

It took a few seconds for her brain to comprehend what he'd asked. The term was no longer used frequently in her circles. It was a sign of her exhaustion that she answered in English. "Some shrink decided we'd fare better if we didn't antagonize our captors," she told him. "Repeating the same useless information is just going to piss them off. And you're going to crack eventually, give them something else. So our troops are taught now to be polite, to ingratiate ourselves to our captors so that they form an emotion bond with us and we can work our wiles on them and escape."

"You admit this...here, now, like this?"

"You hold all the cards, Captain. Where the hell am I going to go? I'm not sure where Capt. Borodin put my gun. My pack's been searched. And from all appearances your core group seems open to assisting me. What's not to like?"

Ramius shook his head. Aviators were all crazy. He was putting his entire crew's safety-and the lives of himself and ten other men-in the graces of an unbound prisoner.

"What is your name?"

"Cayes Austin."

She had to repeat it twice to make him understand that she had an unusual first name, that she wasn't just giving her last name.

"The arm is injured where, exactly?" Petrov asked in Russian. Cayes watched him with fearful eyes. Appropriately so, Ramius decided. Her situation was untenable. Instead of answering she gestured to her elbow, unsnapping the cuff and moving it over the joint so that they could remove the makeshift bandage.. Pain joined the tight expression on her face and she winced twice during the physical examination.

"I think an xray is in order, Captain Comrade. Don't you agree?"

"You are the physician," Ramius told the man as the woman turned to study him. He could almost read her thoughts. What kind of set-up involved the doctor seeking permission to xray a patient?

"If you can slip off your blouse I will arrange the machine," the slick bastard ordered. The American turned slightly away from both men to unbutton the dark navy work shirt she wore. It made her appear like any of a thousand dock workers, but for the pile of hair she'd captured at the nape of her neck.

"Can you do it, Ekaterina?" Ramius asked her.

"Da," she nodded, working the buttons through the holes quickly. She slipped the sleeve off her uninjured side first, gently guiding it over the severely swelling limb. Ramius had crossed his arms to watch, leaning against the bulkhead door.

"I wonder if we should remove the undershirt as well," Petrov ventured. The form of the young woman sitting in the chair was even more apparent. Good lingerie-probably lace-cupped high, full breasts beneath the thinner white cotton of the short-sleeved shirt.

"I should think that to see only the elbow it would suffice if we pushed it up a bit," Ramius countered, stepping forward to help his new captive/co-conspirator to do so. His angry eyes reprimanded the ship sawbones without saying a word. He also noticed-for the first time-the shapes of the bruises appearing lower on her arms. Apparently Vasili Borodin had used a very strong grip to subdue the woman. Else she bruised very, very easily. Still, the added bruises just corroborated their tale.

"I was only trying to be thorough," Petrov pouted. "I've not much experience with the device."

Cayes sighed a bit and rolled her eyes. Ramius would have laughed if the position he now found himself in had not been so utterly inconceivable.

It was exactly how he felt as well.

"I apologize for my man," Ramius told her gruffly as he swiftly traversed the gangways on the way back to the exec's cabin. She remained silent and when he ducked his head to look back at her she merely lifted her left shoulder and eyebrow.

"You shut him down. You are neither his mother nor his god. No apologies necessary."

Ramius nodded thoughtfully as he accepted her reply. This American had a brain in her head it would seem. Certainly her sense of fairness was in order. He would like his new country. It was too bad she was a woman. With that kind of pragmatism she'd have done very well as a naval officer. His thoughts quickly turned the other way and she watched the slow up and down motion reverse. He was shaking his head when he turned to her again.

"What made you think you could overpower a man like Vasili Borodin?" he asked, voicing his disbelief.

She smiled. "Firepower. And I had hoped to appeal to your good will."

"How did you choose his cabin?"

She ducked around, checking to see that there was no one else around. He could have told her that he'd be able to hear the motion. "It was near your cabin. In our navy your importance is ranked by how close you can get to the most important man available. If you're near him when he sleeps you're a big shot. Borodin's cabin is as close as you can get without bunking in your room."

"Why not mine?"

She grinned again, lopsided because of the swelling and bruising. "What if the men didn't like their captain? You could have been anyone, not necessarily Marko Ramius. In our service the captain is like the father. The XO is like the mother. Our XO is next in line to our CO. He's also the one we pout to."

Ramius was shaking his head. She switched to Russian. "XO is our executive officer. Second in command. CO is the boat commander. Most of the time men who disagree with their captains still adore their second. I didn't want to risk the men on duty saying, 'Go ahead, shoot him,' when I forced you out."

Ramius laughed aloud. "Clever."

She quirked her brow. "Not clever enough," she muttered.

"It is admirable that you were able to stow away at all. Our docks must have been murder to get through. And then to remain hidden for so very long."

"Only six days," she countered.

"A long time on a submarine that bases it's time shifts on six-hour increments. Vasili Borodin's schedule is not easy to grasp. And he is wakeful for even much of his down time. A risk indeed there was."

She agreed. "It was a poor choice. I'd have done better to hide in the medical closet and coax the good doctor into seeing it my way."

"We'd have let you kill him," Ramius noted without turning around. He heard her laugh softly behind him as they made their way back to her erstwhile home.


	5. Chapter 5

"Why rabbits?" Cayes asked as Borodin shifted again in his bunk. He hadn't been sleeping well anyway. Knowing that there was someone watching, possibly listening for a chance to escape, this made it even more difficult. He continually wondered what she'd heard and what she hadn't. Modesty and his mother's raising made him aware of the fact that he'd often thought himself alone in the small room, changing and relaxing without thought to a young woman's witness. Incongruously, he had wondered how he stacked up against the American men she knew.

"Why not?" he asked. "They are a tasty meat when prepared well. Easy to foster. Easy to breed." She smiled in the dark. "I will be allowed to farm what I want, will I not?"

"You will," she assured him. "If rabbits is what you want, rabbits it is."

In the dark he shrugged. "Perhaps I will raise many things in my new America. It is 'land of opportunity,' yes?"

"Yes," she whispered. "It is land of opportunity."

._._._._._._._._.

Melekhin ventured in bearing a cup of coffee, a roll and a sweet tucked in his pocket. "My comrade mentioned that you were growing restless-pacing a path in his floor," the skinny older man announced. "And that you were thin. I brought you something for that."

Cayes sat up, first concern, then curiosity, then that tickle of concern again racing through her blood. "I don't think that's a very good idea," she told the man. "It's been made clear that I'm not to talk to anyone on pain of death."

"Eh," the engineer had placed his offering on the small beside table and now stooped to dig in a footlocker. He came up with a beautifully carved box. "Borodin doesn't scare me."

"He's not threatening to slit your wrists," she observed, watching him smooth a loving hand over the gleaming wood. "I'd rather continue my slow decline than walk the plank."

"It is the captain you should worry about. And he won't set you to sea. He'll just break your neck and throw you in the freezer with the last guy he killed." Melekhin's heavy humor ignored the expression that betrayed her momentary panic. "And neither will mind if I start you off on a game of chess," he declared. "I outrank them both."

She laughed at that, instantly regretting it. Her face was healing-the bruise changing from darkest purple to green and yellow at the edges. Her elbow was still in the sling, having been pronounced simply sprung. It hurt worse than the hairline fracture found in her cheekbone.

"My name is Rupert Ivanov Melekhin, chief engineer, at your service."

"Lt. Commander Cayes Austin, beholden to you, sir," she offered.

"Drink your coffee," he told her, gently lifting each playing piece from its assigned nook. "I've only a few hours to teach you to cheat..."

._._._._._._._._._.

Cayes lay on her side, watching in the dim light as the man on the opposite bunk slept, snoring in gentle puffing breaths occasionally. He had to be exhausted. He slept rarely-always awake when she finally drifted, always gone when she woke, often reviewing technical data or scribbling in charts or running through checklists even in his off hours. She wondered how much of it was routine and how much was because of their ultimate goal-trading the Red October for their citizenship. A soft knock had her rising to slide behind the hatch's hinges.

"Vasili?" Ramius asked softly.

"He's sleeping," she whispered. "Deeply."

The man ducked his head around, nodding at her. "Perhaps you would care to join me, then?" he asked. They'd grown used to speaking to her in English. She would help them with their idioms and correct their speech deficiencies. And confirm their dreams, tempering them always with the realities that were her disappointments in her country. "I thought to have a small vodka and a hand of cards. Chief Melekhin and Gregoriy Kamarov are already in my cabin."

She paused. "Will he not panic if he finds me gone?" she asked.

Ramius shrugged. "Serves him right for letting himself get so wound up that he loses himself so deeply. Come, my dear, let us practice our routine."

"Yes, Papa," she smirked, stepping into her shoes.

._._._._._._._._.

"And you are never hungry in America, yes?"

Her lips pressed close, her eyes grew sad. "Many are hungry for many things."

Ramius nodded. "This we know to be true, comrades. Power, wealth, immortality. These things the Americans pursue as the richest country in the world."

She let out a small sound. "The richest country in the world," she agreed ruefully. "We have our faults, gentlemen." They'd gathered in the wardroom. She'd come with Borodin out of boredom. "Unfortunately, ours in a country where there is much waste. And yet there are places where children go to bed dirty and abused and neglected. Families spend unthinkable amounts of money on new cars and vacations and extravagances. And there are places where mothers and fathers cannot feed their children. There are veterans of our national defenses who sleep on park benches in our capital, who have no other home than the sidwalks of our monuments."

"Such dedication, such loyalty." Bugayev noted.

"Such mental deterioration, such poor reward when they gave everything they had," she argued.

"Why are these things allowed to persist?" Borodin asked. He always asked her the hardest questions.

She shook her head. "No one knows how to stop it all. Oil and food become more expensive. Farmers are subsidized because it costs so much to grow one potato, we cannot afford to pay what they really deserve. Some organizations try. There are soup kitchens-like bread lines-and mission shelters and government programs for the old and infirm. But they're not enough. It's not nearly enough."

"What are the numbers?" Ramius asked. Always he wanted the facts to back up her statements-good or bad.

"I honestly don't know. But I think one person who is cold or hungry or sick, one person who needs help and is unable to step out and grasp it themselves, even _one_ person is too many, don't you?"

"What do your leaders think?"

"Whatever the voters tell them they want them to," she answered immediately. "I'm sorry," she added the instant she heard the bitterness in her own words. "I do know that my country is trying. Some days it is simply harder than others to accept it's failures when I know how great are its accomplishments. If humans can build ships and boats that make no noise, bombs that kill by splitting cells, and flags that fly in space where there is no wind, why can't we see that all men know safety and happiness and security?"

"This is the foundation of dreams, is it not?" Bugayev asked.

Borodin nodded. "Not perfection, but seeking to better oneself, is this not our whole goal?"

She nodded. "America is lucky to have you to continue our tradition," she told them. She meant it. They'd come-in only a few days-to be precious to her. As precious as her own teammates.


	6. Chapter 6

It was three or four days after her presence had been made known that Cayes Austin garnered her courage enough to ask the question that had plagued her-even as she crouched cramped and hidden beneath the bunk where she now lay.

"In American we're taught that Russians are suspicious of everyone, everything," she began.

He nodded across the scant floorspace, his wrists crossed low on his belly as he rested, his eyes shut. She knew he wasn't sleeping. She knew his sleep sounds by now. And when he was lying still and yet restless. "I suppose that is-yes, yes we do. They do." She was unfamiliar with the low exclamation that followed his broken English; she assumed it to be a curse. "A conspiracy behind every conversation. Imperialist plots everywhere. Spies to guard against. No trust. No community. No exchange of ideas. No ideas permitted at all except those of the party."

She watched him. Watched as his muscles tensed. His hands fisted and came to rest at his sides. She'd upset him. Shaking her head she corrected herself. _His country upset him. Denied him as a human with the basic rights of a human being._

"I asked because I don't understand," she explained. She shifted, rolling to her side to study him. She wanted honest reactions. He heard her and moved as well, sitting up. He sensed that where she was going would be unpleasant. "There are nine of you? Nine who know about your plan?" He nodded. The number was eleven. He wasn't giving that up. He only trusted her so far, although whatever damage she could do to them was minimal. At worst she would step out of his chamber and start yelling her lungs out and the crew would hear her. Their number was inconsequential. "How did that many of you know that it was safe to bond together?"

"Our captain," he told her honestly. "He has served with each of us before and knew our frustrations. He approached us, carefully of course. But he already knew, in his heart? He knew that we would take our chances for this chance."

"You desire less to be an American than to be something other than Russian?"

"To be Soviet is strong in all of us. But can you understand? We are Soviet. Born, bred, our blood is pure. Except one…who is Jew. Still, our service has been perfect to our country. But our country, the rodika, never will it trust us." He grimaced. He was not explaining it to his liking. "We serve. We give anything. Gladly. And in response we were scorned. So we will go where we will be appreciated or left alone. I want to move from place to place-no papers required giving this permission. I want to live next to people who believe...everything...different things. Who get along still in spite of it."

She propped herself up. His face was a mask of confusion and hope. Like a lost child, floundering, searching for a true mother.

"We have our squabbles," she warned him, sliding to the floor to sit facing him. The narrow space between the bunks wasn't enough for her to sit and she'd not become used to hunching the way the men aboard had over their years' service. "That many people with that many opinions. There are fights and dissenting opinions and-"

"But does your government silence those people? Mark his people as traitors when all they have done is what they were ordered?"

"Is that what happened to you, Vasili? You were punished for following your orders?" she asked softly. She'd not used his name, although he'd taken to calling her by hers. They'd decided on Ekaterina as her assumed identity-it had been what the captain of the ship heard nearest when she'd given her name. And, if someone were to hear them speaking to her or of her, none of them wanted to be in the habit of calling her a commander or Austin.

The man before her laughed bitterly. "I was marked an informer. And I informed on the wrong man. A man more powerful than I realized. I should have just killed the perverted bastard."

"Another officer?"

"A high zampoliti's son. He wouldn't leave me alone and wouldn't take no for an answer."

"He wanted information?" she was confused. Her world had not included this mysterious zampoliti for long and she wasn't sure if they were a branch of government or independent ranking system in the military or what.

"He was less interested in what was in my mind," the man told her. It was clearly uncomfortable. "I was young and impetuous. Ramius was at sea, so I could not seek his opinion." He shrugged. "One would think that being told to back off was enough. At first I thought he was trying to trick suspected homosexuals into revealing themselves." Borodin's companion's mouth fell open. Her head fell back against the bunk and her delighted laughter filled the small chamber.

"Shuh," Borodin warned, coming down beside her to cover her mouth. "Everyone will hear you!" he hissed.

Cayes regained control, but the mirth filled her face, her eyes. "He hit on you?" she asked, just for her own personal enjoyment. It was pretty obviously the theme of the story.

"No," Borodin corrected. "We did not come to blows. The man sought a lover." He did not know the expression. Which sent her into another peal of laughter. As gently as possible he growled and again covered her mouth with his hand. "You will bring every man on this boat to my door," he groaned.

"I'm sorry," she told him, sitting a bit straighter. His hand slid, still near her, but resting now at the side of her jaw beneath her ear. "It's just-more than once he tried to..." she sought a term he would understand. "You're handsome. Masculine. And very...alpha male. I don't understand why he thought you were gay."

"I wasn't," Borodin told her, offended. "I still am not." His head was shaking as if to ward off the stigma. "I grew tired of the constant attention and went to my superior officer. Who went to the zampoliti. Who whined to his father. My record was the one blemished. The political officer spread around that I was a party informer. The party marked me a troublemaker. I was left with nothing. It was only due to my association with Marko Ramius that I kept my rank and have achieved more. I will never command my own boat. Never."

She quirked her lips to the side. He was probably more right than he knew. Any chance whatsoever of getting a command of his own he was leaving swiftly behind. The American navy wouldn't be likely to give him one of theirs for fear of his pulling the same goddamned stunt. "I hate that for you," she told him bluntly. "It's not fair."

"Such is life," he shrugged.


	7. Chapter 7

"My father used to say that. I didn't realize it was a Russian saying."

"Your father is Soviet?"

She shook her head. "My father was a born and bred red neck. But he was philosophical. He grew up on a farm. When the cotton didn't grow you didn't have money. Cotton couldn't grow without the sun and the rain in near equal proportions. And his father, my grandfather, wasn't in the sun business and wasn't in the rain business so sometimes they didn't have as much money as other people, people whose parents worked in offices or stores and all. But such is life, he taught them. His boys grew up and they all left home. I have an uncle in computers and my da was a marine. Enlisted. We grew up poor, but we didn't know it. And for da it was like rolling in money, so things must have been really bad for them. They made their escape from the farm, but they always talked about the good old days."

Borodin nodded. "In the Rodika you take what life you are given and live it quietly. No room for change."

"So you learn 'such is life'?" When he nodded she regarded him silently for longer than made him comfortable. "I am glad to have met you, Vasili Borodin."

He reached across and took her hand. "I am glad to have met you, Cayes Austin," he told her as he squeezed it gently before letting it go.

Both grew uncomfortable with the lingering overwash of emotion. Memories had been dredged from the bottom that brought up sentiments not dealt with for long periods of time. Both shifted, making to gain their knees so that they could regain their bunks. Their actions were nearly mirror images, which brought them smack up against each other in the small confines.

Facing something else that had lain under the surface.

His hand moved before hers did, coming up to cup her face gently-so gently, like an angel's touch-and her hand froze in midair. His fingers skimmed over the damage he'd caused the pretty face. He let his eyes move to hers, giving her time to register fear or repugnance or doubt. He saw only a steadfast consideration. As he bent his lips to hers she reached out, cupping his neck with one hand, while the long fingers of her right rested above his heart. Again, using the tenderest of touches, his lips drew over hers. Slowly. Reverently. Both let their eyes blink closed. Tears burned the back of Cayes's. Borodin's body trembled.

"If I hurt you..." he murmured.

Her head shook beneath his. "You won't."

He deepened the kiss, mindful of her injuries, always giving her room to back away, to reconsider. Until there was none left. They shifted, bodies seeking the warmth and comfort of the other as they knelt on the hard floor. The only sound was the whisper noises their mouths made as they mated. There were no grunts or cries to betray them. Cayes brought her hands to his uniform coat, hesitating only a fraction of a second before nimble fingers slid buttons from their places. Now he groaned his building desire as she slid her hands beneath the lapels to push at the heavy blue material. He took his hands from beneath the heavy hair long enough to shed the outer layer before once more pulling her to him. His mouth moved to her jaw. Quick-searing-open-mouthed kisses moved over the side of her face, down her neck. Breathing became more labored and the buttons on his shirt gave way less easily than only seconds before. Borodin pulled her shirt from the waistband of the dark work pants, the larger, sparser buttons loosening easily so that they were no barrier at all. His hands skimmed her waist, marveling at the narrowness of it when the other curves appeared so lush. After her wash she'd donned a stretchy black camisole rather than the man's style undershirt she typically wore. He appreciated the silky texture of it, warm from her flesh. As his hands moved up Cayes briefly hesitated, pulled back a fraction.

"Vasili," she warned, covering his wrists. "I've not-I've not bathed in-"

"I don't care," he told her honestly. He knew what conditions were like on the sub. He knew what facilities were available-for them both. It had only been the day before when an extra bucket of water had been provided her, this one less hot than lukewarm, for washing her hair-the first time since coming aboard.

She nodded, gasping for air as his mouth trailed over her collarbone.

Quick hands tugged both his white blouse and undershirt from his waistband and Borodin eased back enough to shed both layers, letting his clothes fall as they would. He lifted the hem of her undergarment over her head, admiring greatly the western brassiere she wore beneath, a swirl of lace and silk and ribbon he would never have imagined on a military operative. Both of his strong arms came around her as she wrapped hers around his waist. Part of his conscious mind was aware of her elbow in its gauze wrapping and he treated her carefully. Most of him was simply lost in the textures of the woman he surrounded, skin hot against skin. His mouth trailed over her right shoulder now, tasting and teasing. Her hair had come loose at some point and fell like black rain around them, beautifully dark and soft as silk despite the weeks and weeks of mistreatment. His hand had just come down to pull her closer against him-to feel the glide of their bodies together-when she bent her head to drag his earlobe between her teeth.

"Cayes...Cayes..." he panted. Suddenly she felt herself lifted off the ground. His full, heavy form followed her as he laid her on the bunk behind them. It carried her scent and he groaned, closing his eyes against the additional sensory onslaught.

In the dimmer light beneath the top berth their hands sought and found the slopes and planes of bodies honed for higher standards. Borodin was careful to ease his way into every next level of intimacy. He unfastened her undergarment, then kissed her for a long time as he slid the straps from the slender arms. When her fingers tugged on his belt he brought himself more fully over her, testing her desire and dragging it out. His own hand slid between their bodies to unsnap the first buttons on her trousers, finding more of the American lace beneath it. He caressed the flat abdomen, running his hand beneath her waistband to rock her hip toward him long before he moved to strip the clothes off of her.

Although, that, too, came. And sooner rather than later. He reached lower, testing her, and found to his great pleasure and concern that she was as urgent as he-and that no man had breached her in some time.

"Slow," he told her when she bucked and trembled beneath him. "I do not want to hurt you."

His words were English. His accent was so thick in his passion that they were practically meaningless. Cayes was beyond needing them.

Her hands trembled, unsteady as she reached for his belt again, this time fighting with the foreign buckle until he lifted himself, shoving at his clothing until he lay naked over her.

"Vasili," she begged as he pressed himself into her.

"I have you, yes," he panted. His mouth closed over hers and never strayed as his body rocked into hers, joining completely. They shared even breath as he made love to her. Slowly, ever slowly. When the desire crested and he would pound into her he checked it again and drew out the moments until both were shaking for the release. And when it came it was a quiet gasp, an earth-shattering completion, rather than the meaningless physical leap he'd grown used to.

He braced himself, shuddering above her as the aftershocks ripped through his body. She'd fisted one hand in his hair, almost to the verge of pain, while the other clutched tightly the back of his shoulder. She opened her eyes to find his boring into her and she had to swallow twice to will back the tears from the sweetness of the encounter. Her hands gentled, petting and stroking him, this tamed beast above her. His eyes were nearly black, his body strong and muscled beneath her palms. Real and earthy. And yet he'd taken her places that had previously been long-winded passages in the fantasy tales of romance novels.

"Cayes," he began. He stopped. He didn't know what tact to take with her. To declare the feelings building in his chest as love? To apologize for taking advantage of what certainly was a junior officer. He shook his head to clear it and felt her fingertips on his lips.

"Shhh," she told him softly. She shifted, moving closer to the bulkhead, and drew his head down beside her. It was the path of least resistance and he took it, sinking to the bunk, crowding beside her. "You were to have been sleeping," she murmured, her fingers in his thick inky hair. He nodded against her, his eyes closed in enjoyment of the forbidden luxury of it. "How long do you have?"

"I have the third watch on the conn today," he told her thickly. She glanced at the watch on the arm he'd let drape across her. Two hours. The man could wash and dress in three minutes.

"Sleep now," she told him, snuggling next to him to take full advantage of the situation. Again he nodded and it wasn't long until his chest rose and fell rhythmically, the breath even and deep against her neck. When he woke he was dry-mouthed and erect again. The one he could do something about. The other he would ignore.

"I'm dreaming," he decided aloud. The woman next to him shifted in her sleep; she rolled to her side. It was something she typically did, he knew now, just before she woke fully and opened her eyes.

"Vasili..." she murmured. She smiled to herself, licking her lips in her habitual way.

"Shhh," he whispered. "You have plenty of time to sleep," he promised in hushed tones. A glance at his German-made wrist watch showed that the same was not true for himself. His shift started in less than a quarter of an hour. Still, he caught himself lingering, watching the dark lashes on the pale cheeks. The dark hair spread like a blanket-she looked like a heathen gypsy. And was just as tempting. Straightening finally he covered her with the blanket from his own bed and saw to repairing his appearance as best as possible. He just barely made it to his post on time. For the first time in his entire career.


	8. Chapter 8

"Captain Borodin." Ramius nodded his hello.

"Comrade Captain," Borodin responded in kind.

"You look rested, Comrade," Ramius noted quietly as they stepped to the charts.

"I was able to fall asleep almost immediately upon closing my eyes-for once," the younger man explained. _How _this had been made possible he did not.

When he returned to his cabin ten hours later it was as an exhausted man. Cayes was playing both sides of a chess game bent over in her bunk. Her eyes followed him warily as he stepped in and immediately turned down the lights.

"I am sorry, but my eyes are going to burn out of my head," he told her. He reached to loosen his collar with one hand while he bent for the bottle of vodka with the other. He wanted out of the stiff-necked uniform and he intended to reward himself with a long pull of the harsh liquor. Neither task was completed when he fell onto his bunk, shoes still on his feet. He felt Cayes's uncertainty, felt her eyes on him. "I have been checking and rechecking the pipelines for our nuclear reactor," he explained. "It is very brightly lit in the reactor spaces. The walls are painted bright white. The better to see the steam escaping if our experts are to be believed." The bed opposite creaked, something he'd been unaware of until now. Idly he wondered if the noise had been present and inconsequential according to his brain or if their actions had weakened part of the structure or strained something.

"Is there a reactor leak?" she hissed at him. He shook his head slowly. "Do you _think_ there's a leak?" she persisted. Another head shake but no information was forthcoming. She wanted to smack him. She'd wanted him to return all day. Now he had and it was like it had been when he'd first learned of her presence aboard the sub. No. It was worse. At least then he'd been polite. "Is it part of the overall plan?" she guessed finally.

He sighed and nodded. Then he sniffed the air. "Have you been smoking?"

She rolled her eyes but didn't answer. She went back to her game-against herself. A losing proposition either way. She was sore. Her body was tender. It had been months and months since she'd sought male companionship and now that she had she wanted a little attachment, too. Affection. She pouted at the intricately crafted pieces.

"Cayes?" he demanded, lifting his head.

"No!" she hissed at him, swinging her head to look at him, then looking away just as quickly. She'd left her hair down, he noted now. There were probably miles of it. His palms itched to gather it up, to sniff it. To feel it draped around them both. She was speaking and he wasn't even listening to her-

"There are no windows to vent...no candles or ceiling fans or-"

"Are you all right?" he asked. It stopped her dumb. He leaned up to look at her again. She was glaring at him, biting the insides of her cheeks, with her earthy eyes narrowed.

"You have beautiful eyes," he told her.

A brow arched up. "Decide to go back and hit a few of the steps we missed earlier?" she asked.

"I asked if you were all right," he reminded her. She nodded. "I was concerned-I was afraid that I had been too much on you. I am a large, heavy man. You are tiny, like a pixie. And already bore my marks, before we even considered..." he gestured toward the bunk she occupied.

She laughed. She'd hardly considered herself tiny or faerie-like.

"You are all right with what's happened?" he asked softly. His words barely carried to her. She nodded solemnly. He nodded, relaxing back against his pillow. His hand moved to the space beside him. "Come here; lay with me," he said quietly.

She moved with immediate grace, sliding into the bunk beside him. She'd remade both bunks while he was gone, exchanging the sheets for the ones of the beds above them. The laundry service on this sub had yet to see them entirely changed. She wondered what that meant for the men-she knew that there were times on American subs when extra personnel meant there was a shortage of bunks and they were shared by men who worked opposite shifts. It was a lousy was to run a ship and made for huge infection control risks and the bedding was changed almost daily.

Borodin closed his eyes again as she snuggled onto his chest. _I should have locked the door_, he thought. The thought of moving, though, with her sweet hand rubbing circles on his chest and rib cage...it just didn't signify as that important. He slept for a few hours, then made love to her again, slowly as he had the first time.

It was nearly time for him to report to his duty station when the tray he'd asked for was brought. Borodin slipped on his pants to answer the knock and Cayes slid into his shirt, stepping behind the door so as to avoid being seen should anyone be passing.

He smiled a proprietary grin at the sight of her in his clothing. The poor shirt had ended up on the floor twice in twenty-four hours and looked to swallow her whole. "I'll need my blouse back," he told her as he closed the door. He held the tray of brown bread and tea in one hand.

"Come get it," she challenged. Borodin decided that her eyes looked like nothing so much as a cat's when she smiled like that. He turned, placing the tray casually on the top bunk. She let out a squeak when he whirled back around, pinning her against the bulkhead. It turned to a low hum of appreciation when his hands spread the two sides of the shirt and he lifted her against him. His mouth was already busy at the column of her throat, one hand working to release the fly of his trousers.

On the other side of the wall the doctor stood as though struck dumb-amazed and horrified.

Surely he had heard things. He'd been right behind the orderly delivering the breakfast tray and wondered if it was a wise course of action. Then he'd heard Captain Borodin's words. They'd struck him as unusual and had caused him to pause. The woman's squeal had made his heart beat faster. Of a surety even Vasili Borodin did not have so much of the captain's favor as to trifle with his married daughter. He was an upstart-a sailor from a poor family who had found ways of bettering himself. He was a gifted and inspirational leader of men, who trusted him and were loyal to him. And he managed to ingratiate himself to most of the boat commanders he served under. A shining star, of a certainty, especially aboard Red October. Surely, surely he would not be so..._cocky_...as to make bold with a woman who bore the marks of her husband's hand. This started Petrov to thinking. And it was better for everyone involved when the man did not think. Glancing around he moved his stethoscope out of his pocket and placed the device against the thinner wall next to the door. He kept one eye out for approaching men and put the ear pieces in place.

"Oh, Cayes," he heard Borodin moan. Petrov jerked back as though burned. His face was a color like to fire. _What to do with this knowledge?_


	9. Chapter 9

Petrov and Borodin were the first in the wardroom for the officer's daily mess meeting on their tenth day of sailing.

"So, Vasily, how do you find yourself these days?"

Borodin simply lifted his eyebrows at the doctor and poured his tea. He wasn't sleeping well and with the stress of the unseen circumstances-it was beginning to tell on him. "I am very well, thank you for asking."

"I imagine so," Petrov continued. "And your houseguest?"

"Seems to be healing fine. Her bruises are beginning to fade and her arm pains her not so much."

"A relief this is to you?"

Instead of answering Borodin waited. The doctor was building to something. He looked up at the smaller man who hovered in the corner of the room, his arms crossed as he sipped his own tea and smiled in a superior manner.

"Did her husband beat her because he found out about her affair with you, I wonder?" Petrov chose that moment to glance down, else he would have seen his peril approaching. "And does her father know, or do you attempt hide it from him as well?"

Borodin erupted from the bench, his hands knocking the delicate cup from Petrov's as they closed around his whimpering throat.

"You will be very careful before you suggest such things about the lady again," Borodin threatened. "Do you understand me, _Lieutenant Comrade_?"

Petrov was nodding, his eyes locked on the murderous glow of those in front of him. Melekhin walked in then. His glance took in the shards on the floor, then the man his friend had backed against the wall. "Do you want that I should come back in a bit?" he asked. "Or should I stand watch outside?"

Borodin's chest was still heaving, the red rage was still clouding his vision, but he stepped back, flexing his hands compulsively. "It is fine. Is it not, doctor?"

Petrov nodded jerkily. He'd pushed his luck. He had confirmed his suspicions about the executive officer, but not knowing how much the woman's father knew or cared about the situation...he wouldn't be pushing any farther. And dear heavens, what if the man mentioned the exchange to the captain and the captain became enraged?

"I apologize, Captain Borodin. It was unseemly of me to suggest such a thing. I think it is only the stress of the situation that has kept me from resting and perhaps addled my wits."

"There, Vasily," Melekhin nodded. "We are all on edge, are we not?" Borodin nodded and the other two men bent to retrieve the shattered cup. Others filed in, the captain among them. Borodin found himself scooting farther and farther down the wall, away from the hated doctor. The man should have found his calling as a zampolit, he thought darkly.

"What's this?" Ramius asked. The other men were quiet as the floor was mopped dry. The tension had been palpable the moment they'd entered the chamber.

"Some tea has gotten spilled...I-I-I slipped, Captain," Petrov answered, his gaze drawn uncontrollably to Borodin's, then just as quickly away. Still Ramius caught it.

"Well, for the love of Rodika, take care, Ivanov. Good men have been lost that way." He sat down heavily at the table. "This run seems frought with accidents!" he proclaimed.

After the meeting Melekhin and Borodin went off to arrange some of their handiwork. "Are you going to tell me what that was about, comrade?" Melekhin asked his friend.

"You mean Dr. Petrov?" Borodin asked.

Melekhin sucked in a harsh breath. "You know damn well I mean Petrov!" he shot back.

Borodin considered, his tongue running over his teeth. "He suggested that the reason Cayes's husband beat her was because we'd been having an affair." That was all he said. Melekhin met his eyes for a long time. There was more in them than had been spoken aloud.

"Isn't that what we hoped would be suspected if anyone questioned the tale?" Borodin nodded. "But it bothers you?" He didn't have to look up to see Borodin's nod this time. The engineer continued working, his ever-present cigarette dangling from his mouth. Borodin reached forward, snagging the pack from the man's coveralls and lighting up himself.

"Why?" Melekhin asked. Now he did look up, catching the flare in Borodin's eyes as the flame of the match met the dark, strong tobacco. It was the older man who nodded this time. "Because you _do_ want to have an affair with her. Is she married?"

Borodin's eyes were mournful. He slouched back against the bulkhead. "Do you know that I've not asked her?!" He was incredulous of himself. "Surely if she's had a husband-it would have come up, wouldn't it?"

Melekhin shrugged. "She has no children. That much I know."

Borodin nodded. "No stretch marks," he muttered to himself.

"Vasily Borodin!" Melekhin exclaimed. "You're not pissed at the ass because you want the girl! You're green around the gills because you've already had her!"

"Quiet, comrade!" Borodin chided. He blushed but couldn't fight the pleased expression on his face.

One of their subordinates wandered by to hear Melekhin congratulate the executice officer. "You dog. Good for you. You deserve it!"

The talk was quickly spread. Junior officers and enlisted men who had been privy to gossip already were delighted to add this to their store of knowledge. It made the unseen listener quite the star attraction until the next wave of reactor gossip hit.


	10. Chapter 10

As the time for their ultimate act of deception…that which would lead to their defection…neared Vasili Borodon showed more and more signs of stress. He ate less, slept less, and worried more. On more than one occasion Ramius warned him to watch himself. Cayes, too, felt his increasing strain. No longer did she join the men in their wardroom or in the Captain's quarters for games of cards or chess or chance as she had in the first days of her acceptance.

When the alarms rang out their bitter song of warning she was as surprised and fearful as any other member of the crew. Despite sleeping with the man who had helped mastermind the plot she'd had _no_ forewarning of the date nor hour. Thus the klaxons brought her leaping to her feet from a sound and deep sleep. It was a terrifying way to begin her day. And the day drug on in worry and fear. She'd have no reassurance from Vasili that day. He was too busy to slip away for any length of time, so she simply sat and wondered. And second guessed everything she knew. If he loved her he'd come for her. If he cared not he wouldn't. If their true intent became known to the crew and there was mutiny would any seek out this space? If in truth there had been a reactor incident—and wouldn't that have been ironic—would he be able to come for her? _No_, she thought. If there were men in harm's way the Vasili she loved would instead rush to their side rather than come sit by her and hold her hand. And that was right and good that he was that sort of man…

In the gangway not too distant the Russian officers regarded the newcomers with suspicion borne of a lifetime's guard. Melekhin laughed and commented on Ryan's limited enjoyment of the Soviet cigarette. "Come, we'll put you to work," Ramius told them. He started to lead the group off, then hesitated. "Captain Borodin, would you see if our little elf wants to appear now or later?" he asked the man.

"I will check, Comrade Captain."

"We'll be in the conn if she wants to join us there."

It was short minutes when their elfkin did appear, happy to see an American uniform. She popped to attention, saluting immediately what she saw as a superior officer.

"Commander Austin, these are Commander Ryan of the CIA and Lt. Williams of your navy." Both men were visibly shocked, first at the appearance of a woman, then at the ease with which the Russian captain introduced her as an American. "Lt. Commander Cayes Austin, gentlemen, a pilot for your naval aeroplanes."

"Ma'am," Ryan nodded, extending his own hand at her curious expression. He hadn't returned the salute and she'd dropped hers, glancing sharply at the captain's use of the acronym CIA. "I'm not an officer-" Williams had automatically popped to attention at her introduction as a senior officer and relaxed as she moved.

"He is spy," Borodin provided.

Ryan's smile was strained. "I am an analyst."

"And you salute like a limey," she nodded at the other man. "So what gives?"

Williams's teeth shone out, an amused expression on his face. "Sometimes letting the service know that you speak a bit of a foreign tongue is a dangerous thing, ma'am."

"Are we still in international waters?" she asked.

All of the men nodded. Her face dropped slightly. "Still not home yet..." she sighed. "How close?"

"Getting closer," Ryan reassured her. He shook his head once. "We sure didn't expect to find you aboard."

"That makes you one of many."

"Shall we proceed to get underway?" the second in command asked.

"Of course," Ramius acknowledged. "Commander Austin, we could use your assistence if you're willing," he told the young woman.

"Of course, Captain." She smiled. Then she shrugged, moving toward one of the walls of consoles. "How much different could it be-it's like flying a big, wingless bird underwater, right?" She was already scanning, thinking to equate depth with altitude, looking for charts.

Borodin stepped forward. "Uh...Captain," he said softly. "Are you certain this is a good idea?" Ramius and the others in the room turned toward him. "I have just remembered something about airmen-" At the captain's gesture he continued. "They're all crazy."

Cayes turned, narrowing her eyes at him, and backhanded him in the gut.

"She will do fine, Vasily," Ramius corrected him. "You will make sure of it."

This garnered a laugh from the group of very tense men. Their last for a while.

When they were settled at their new duty stations Cayes turned to Ryan. "You don't have a pack of gum in your pocket, do you?" she asked.

He shook his head sorrowfully. "I'll get you one, first chance I get," he promised. Her response was a resigned arching of one dark brow.


	11. Chapter 11

"What are you doing?" Ryan asked the young woman near him.

Cayes had gotten acquainted with the task at hand-the myriad dials and levers and gauges-then disappeared. When she'd returned she'd carried a mirror and a pair of needle nose plyers and had been attempting ever since to separate the silvered glass from its protective backing.

"I want my tags," she grunted, her eyes scanning the control panel before once more attacking the tool she'd intended to use to signal for help.

"Your pardon?" Ramius responded, growing interested.

"My tags," she told him again in English. "My dog tags." She switched to Russian. "Military identification."

He nodded. The older man felt himself wince with the young woman as the plyers lost purchase and she raked them across the pad of her thumb.

"I don't understand," Ryan admitted, craning around to try to see what she was doing.

"Our guest was unable to immediately seek refuge from our pursuing countrymen. It is a fair guess she had to conceal her identity as an American and as a military operative. She chose to do so with a mirror?" he guessed.

She nodded, again scanning her instruments. "I used a sealant from my pack to put them between the mirror and the frame."

"And now that you are going back you need them to identify yourself to your countrymen?" His country would have sought more proof than papers that no misdeed had been done.

She leveled the captain with a hard look. Swallowing she shrugged. "They have my prints on file. They'll know it's me." Tears were forming in her eyes. "I want to go back as an American," she told him. "I have no uniform. Only these." Her voice was thick with the emotion she struggled to contain. Ramius wondered if she'd let herself really hope that she'd ever get back before her compatriots had arrived. She'd had all these days to maneuver the treasure she sought from its hiding place and yet this was the first he'd heard of it, seen of it. If Vasili Borodin had known he would have certainly suggested waiting-cautious man that he was-on the odd chance that the doctor snuck in to search her belongings. But he also would have sought his captain's approval after the fact.

As he had the affair he'd begun with her.

Ryan reached over to take the mirror, examining it. "We'll get 'em out," he told her. She'd been gone for nearly four months. Hiding her identity and very existence up until the last little bit-or so as he gathered. He was certain that she was a patriot deserving of decoration and he'd be damned if he wouldn't do everything possible to return her tags to her if that's what she wanted.

"Is it your id card, too, or just the dog tags?" he asked as he removed his pocket knife to work at the housing.

"Just my tags. The tags themselves. I left the chain in a farmhouse's utility shed somewhere near Polyarny. There was nowhere to put it."

Ryan nodded, his attention drawn by the task at hand.

Ramius saw his newest crewman forgetting his task. "Is the mirror of value as well?" he asked, holding his hand out for it. She shook her head.

"I took it from a merchantman's emergency pouch." Ramius simply palmed the object and smashed it hard against the conning tower's guardrail. Amid the glass and plastic were two small, flat metal rectangles. He bent, gingerly retrieving them for her as Ryan reached into his collar for something.

"Here you are, my dear," Ramius told her.

Ryan handed her a silvered chain from which hung the St. Jude medal his wife had gotten him fairly recently. He was a lost cause, she'd told him when she hung it around his neck, but he was her lost cause. "Welcome back to the United States Navy." Ryan frowned. "You know, as the ranking American officer aboard, that means command of the ship is yours."

Ramius's expression turned fierce. The other officers in the control room frowned as well. "I already tried to take this ship once, Ryan," the pilot noted wryly. "I think I'll wait for the big boys in the pentagon to negotiate this next step, thanks all the same."

._._._._._._._._.

It was with great relief that Cayes was able to leave the pressure-filled command center and take a turn in the reactor space. She missed Vasili. She missed Melekhin, too, but it was Vasili Borodin whose arms she longed to feel around her. Failing that, she'd take his solidly reassuring presence.

"What is this you are wearing?" Vasili asked Cayes as she slid down the bulkhead to rest on her haunches for a moment.

"My dog tags," she told him.

He reached out, gingerly exploring them. "They are functional? The medal is what merit?"

Cayes tilted her chin, catching up Ryan's St. Jude medal. "Mr. Ryan lent me the chain for them. It's his medal. A religious charm-the protection of one of the saints. Probably coupled with the fervent prayers of whoever gave it to him. St. Jude is the patron of lost causes." She laughed.

Mannion squatted beside her. "I wear one, too," he showed the man. "Mine is St. Christopher, patron of sailors. My sister has one, too. They're from my mom. I guess we started out wearing them for her, but now we're attached to the symbol. It's like a little extra reassurance that someone loves you. The dog tags identify us as American military personnel. Identify which one if there's a bad accident and it takes a while to get down to find us," he explained.

This Borodin understood. "You kept them with you?" he asked, meeting Cayes's eyes. "I've never seen them before."

"They were hidden between a mirror and the case," she explained. "I just needed them. To know that I was still me. I won't have anything left. I don't know what they do with the personal effects of an officer with no next of kin. My monetary worth was supposed to go to the Army Navy Fund, so there's a chance that I'll get at least a portion of that back. But otherwise I won't have anything. No pictures. No jewelry. No books. I'm starting over. It'll all be gone..."

Borodin closed his hand over hers where they draped between her knees. He'd brought out a few of his treasures. A few family portraits. His father's medals. His mother's locket and diamond rings. A few favorite books and other small things he'd collected over a lifetime. Most of his possessions he'd left behind. He was a career naval officer, though. A single man. There wasn't a lot of sentimental value. Wasn't a lot he couldn't live without. The woman before him had nothing.

"Don't be so sure," Mannion countered. "I'm thinking there was a burst about the time you must have crashed. I can't remember what date, but it was the typical Atlantic fleet 'oh, shit' message."

Both of the members of his audience shook their head.

"All of the major carrier groups and other vessels operating in each of the country's designated ocean areas have an 'oh, shit' message. A code that means that something-an op-went wrong and we should be on the lookout for word or proof of American involvement. Material or personnel that need to be recovered or destroyed. In what I'm thinking had to be your case NASA took the fall. The burst said that a group of engineers and pilots testing a shuttle maneuvering exercise lost control of their navigation system and were believed to have crashed. Somewhere between the North Pole and Africa," he grinned. "That's the north Atlantic 'oh, shit'-that 'somewhere between the North Pole and Africa.' So I'm thinking that if you had to torch your bird, good guy satellites picked up the heat signature and recognized it for what it was-the high-intensity explosives we pass out when our stuff goes abroad. And if somebody went to the trouble of lighting up our gear, chances are they're on our side. In the northern hemisphere, if you're between the North Pole and Africa and you had to torch your ride, you're in a world of hurt. Thus the burst. And I know when sailors are MIA or lost overboard the powers that be usually give it six months before they're presumed to be dead. That gives them time to tug all the lines, just in case they're picked up by somebody who doesn't immediately let us know they've got one of our boys."

Borodin looked at Cayes. Her eyes were calculating. "I don't understand," he admitted.

Mannion shrugged. "I'm not promising anything. My timing may have been off. But I think there's a chance that your gear got packed up and is sitting in storage somewhere waiting for you to come home."

"That would be _phenomenal_," Cayes gushed. She didn't have much. And some of it was ridiculously fru-fru. And the idea of somebody packing her personal effects-of them handling her things-bothered her a little bit. She had some good jewelry. Some tapes and videos and books and other collectables that would sell well on the trade day or pawn shop circuit. Plus somebody had possibly packed up all the letters and notes she'd kept from school. Her underwear. They knew how many nearly-empty liquor bottles were in her kitchen. It was a little creepy.

But better to have creepy keepsakes than no keepsakes at all.

"Thank you, Commander Mannion," she said sincerely.

He grinned. "No promises, now, Commander. I'm just saying..."

"I don't care," she told him. "I'm honestly just glad to be going home."

"Amen," he breathed.

Borodin nodded. He wasn't sure about her god yet.


	12. Chapter 12

When Ryan met Mancuso on the bridge he extended his hand. "Sir, I'm happy to turn command of this mission over to you. Oh. And there's a little hink."

"There always is, Ryan," he sighed. "It comes from having the CIA involved."

"Actually, this is kind of a naval matter." The captain made a 'come on' gesture. "There's an aviator that they picked up somehow-an American aviator that was downed in Russia a few months ago."

"_Jesus Christ_, Ryan! Things just keep growing and growing and growing with you around, don't they?! Who is it?"

"Cayes Austin. She's a-"

"Lieutenant Commander. She was the copilot on a bird that went missing. Where's the pilot? He had a funny name, too."

"It is my belief that he was killed in the crash, sir."

"Damn. That's just too damn bad. And the Russkies got ahold of her-is she okay?"

Ryan shrugged. "I've never met a pilot that I'd qualify as okay. She may be experiencing a touch of Stockholm syndrome." He shrugged, uncomfortable discussing this but he felt the man had a need to know. "I'm not sure what's happened. There hasn't been a lot of time to talk to her about it. She's comfortable with most of the Russians. Comfortable enough for them to make jokes. And she speaks Russian really really well, sir. I'm just not sure what the hell to think."

"So is she a captive of the Russian sub commander or not?" Mancuso demanded.

"No, sir. As a matter of fact she's working in the engine room right now. Earlier she was helping with vents. It seems like maybe they kept her presence secret from the rest of the fleet?"

"Are you telling me she happened to turn herself in to the one submarine captain who just happened to be planning to defect anyway? Or are you saying she's the one who convinced them to defect?"

Ryan shrugged. "The only comment that's made any kind of sense to me is that she tried to take over the boat once already and it didn't turn out so well."

"Thanks, Ryan." Mancuso dismissed the man, moving to go around him.

"Oh! Commander!" Mancuso turned around. "When you see her, it looks like she's taken some pretty hard knocks. Her face is every shade of purple and green known to man."

"Are you telling me you think that the men on this ship beat the hell out of her and now she's cooperating with them?" Mancuso was incredulous.

Ryan just shook his head. He'd had pretty much all he could stand of any navy on the planet. "I'm not telling you anything. I don't know anything. I just wanted you to be aware of the situation before you got down there and it slapped you in the face like it did me."

"Thanks, Ryan," Mancuso said drily. His men watched him heave a sigh and then continue down the ladder. They exchanged shrugs. At this point the witch's house could land on the missile deck and they wouldn't really blink twice.

Onboard Mancuso approached eagerly.

"I hear you have another American," he said, shaking hands.

Borodin nodded. "Lt. Commander Cayes Austin. I wish we could find her a uniform. I think it would help her. She is worried I think. Nervous about returning home. But eager. It has been some time." He shook his head as though clearing it. "I wish we could find her a uniform."

"Want to tell me about that?"

Borodin considered. "Briefly? Cayes came to be aboard the Red October after three months of evading detection in the Rodika. She attempted to force us to launch an emergency inflatable for her and there was a struggle, during which time she suffered some injury, much to my personal regret. I was responsible for this, Captain, and no one else. It was decided that she would remain aboard-as secretly as possible on a boat this size-and that when we came to be in your waters she would then be able to report to her unit."

"Well, let's get her up here," Mancuso said. The sooner any female officers were gotten off navy vessels the better to his way of thinking. And he wanted to talk to her, to decide what exactly he was dealing with.

Cayes was on the bridge in seconds. Borodin had walked partway with her. He'd kissed her-goodbye if that was what it was-before turning to jog back to his post. She'd put on one of Melekhin's jumpsuits-this one a bright red-over her tank top. The top few buttons were left open and her dog tags shone against the dark material. That's what Mancuso noticed when she first ducked in through the hatch.

"Hot _damn,"_ Jonesy murmured behind him.

"Commander?" Mancuso asked.

She nodded, coming to attention. "Lt. Commander Cayes Austin, sir, of 25th Nightwing. I'm a little late for my rendezvous, Cap."

"At ease, Austin." He reached out to shake her hand. "It's good to know you're still with us."

She nodded. "Mussell and Grengaige didn't make it, sir. Their families will need to be informed. And I have a couple things for your G-2 when there's time."

"How 'bout you go get your gear now. We can transfer you to the Dallas and make contact with your CO."

Cayes hesitated and everyone on the deck saw it. "Sir, if it's all right..." She looked down, the met his eyes again, squaring her shoulder. "Captain, if you order me to go, I'll go. And I'm happy to turn my intel over right now. But if it's all right...I've come this far. I'd like to see these guys get to Norfolk if that's the plan."

Mancuso nodded thoughtfully. "We already have our orders printed. If there's another burst I'm sending you out on the airwaves. Otherwise you're welcome to come along for the ride."

"Thank you," she said. "I know it's a strange request. I can't explain-"

"You don't have to, Commander. You have your reasons. You'll finish out the cruise if that's how it shakes down. But you don't want to get out-to call home or something?"

She shrugged. "There's nobody to call. And I can wait a few more days to deal with the 'Why you and not mine?' guilt from the widows."

Mancuso nodded. Pilots were their own breed of strange. He could make sense of that, though. There was more than one submariner who'd survived an accident when the guy standing right next to him hadn't. Add to that a couple of months on the run and this woman was looking at some serious time in therapy. He wondered if she'd get back in a cockpit ever again.

"There's been an interest expressed in seeing you back in uniform. If you'll get me your sizes I'll see what we can come up with."

Her knees nearly buckled and she reached out to brace herself on the back of the chair nearest her. Ivanov reached up to pat her hand. "Steady," he cooed over his shoulder.

"I would appreciate that very much, Captain." That much was evident from the tears in her eyes. Mancuso decided that any fear Ryan had of Austin's turning sides was unfounded. He'd get her a uniform to return to the mainland in or he'd have somebody's head.

"Anything else?"

"The Commander was asking earlier about gum," Ryan announced from behind them.

"Gum?" Mancuso nearly shouted. He was tired of things not making sense.

"Chewing gum," their favorite spy clarified. Austin objected, waving her hands.

"It's no big deal, sir," she laughed. "Honest. If you try to get me some khakis-" She had to stop. She felt her eyes begin to burn. It was a little thing. The tiniest of things. And so often..._so_ often as she'd laid in some shitpile or hidden away in some barn or slept on the streets of some grey, drizzly city...it was one of the things she'd wished for.

Mancuso walked away.

"Hey!" they heard him shout. "I've got a liberated MIA navy pilot in here wants some gum. Whose got a pack?"

The sound of running feet clattered overhead. Mancuso returned with his hands full. Tears rolled down her face. He ignored them.

"You got your Juicy Fruit, your Big Red, your-I don't know what the hell this is-"

Borodin walked over to the small woman and wrapped his arm around her. "You would appear to be overwrought. Why don't you go lie down?" he suggested. "Consider your captain's offer to take you home tonight."

The kindness set her back on track. She wiped her eyes with her fists. "I'm okay," she reassured the man. He continued to regard her. Every man on the deck watched the exchange. It said a lot. "I'm okay," she repeated in an undertone before turning to the American captain. "Thank you. Tell your men thank you. Tell them I said thank you so much."

He nodded. "I figure you'll get the chance. Some of them are probably going to want your autograph. Maybe a picture. Especially dressed like that," he grinned. Red was a good color for her. Few of the women in uniform his guys knew wore a jumpsuit quite so well. She laughed as he'd hoped she would. "Go get some rest, kid," he waved her off.

"I'll just go back," she gestured, still clutching the gum. Ryan wondered if she was going to put a piece in her mouth.


	13. Chapter 13

She did. She just waited until she'd hit an empty corridor. Shifting through her newfound wealth she selected her favorite. Her mouth was watering as her trembling fingers unwrapped it, then she folded it as was her habit and tucked it onto her tongue. Her eyes closed at the simple pleasure. It was the littlest of things. But sometimes the little things are what make us human, she thought. What makes us who we are. And she was so glad to be home.

It was hours before she could catch Borodin. When he wandered back to the engine room to fetch Melekhin for a pow-wow he was surprised to find her working. Sweat shone lightly on her brow. And she chewed away.

When she heard the footfalls she turned. When she saw the man she grinned. "Turn your back, Melekhin," she ordered. She was already reaching into her pocket for a new stick of gum. When it was in her mouth she caught Borodin's elbows and lifted herself onto her tiptoes. "Come kiss me," she whispered to the scandalized man. Melekhin laughed, then stuck his fingers playfully in his ears. Borodin blushed but did as requested. Her tongue tasted of the candy. Minty and cool and refreshing. He caught himself losing sight of his goal in searching out his comrade.

Melekhin was grinning, already adjusting some valve or knob, when Borodin lifted his face. Borodin shook his head, chagrinned. "I need to borrow your boss," he told the woman in his arms.

She shrugged. "Okay. I've got it covered."

Melekhin objected. He grabbed her uninjured elbow as he walked to the doorway, dragging her away from the other man. "You will not be permitted to go near my engine room without much supervision," he told her. "_My_ supervision."

Borodin laughed. "Go talk to your American friends," he suggested. She took him up on it, heading to the wardroom.

"Speak of the devil!" Mannion called as she peeked in. "We were just talking about you, Commander."

"Well, there's a shock," Cayes retorted. "What's up?" She slid easily onto the bench, lacing her fingers in front of her.

Jonesy reached over to knock on her clasped hands with his closed fist. "The cook was just in here wondering if you had a hankering for anything," he told her.

They watched as she considered. "Hashbrowns," she decided. "Red velvet cake. Lays and Reese Cups and ketchup." Her lips came together. Her eyes lit up. "Frosted flakes. With cold, cold milk."

Mannion nodded and rose. "Can-do, Commander," he told her.

"Frosted flakes of what?" Bugayev asked. He'd apparently given over his chair to the radio operator and sat on the floor.

"It's cereal," she told him. "Like porridge. Only cold."

The men around her-even the Americans-made faces of disgust. One shook himself all over. It was a lousy description. "_Cold?_" the man next to her asked.

"It's a free country," she told him. "Eat whatever the hell you want for breakfast."

Much, much later Cayes found herself in the wardroom with most of the Russians and a good many of the Americans as well. They'd seen ET. Twice. Never one of her favorites, but hell-it was TV.

A guy popped into the room with a small pile of khaki uniforms. "Commander Austin?" he asked. She nodded and turned. "Mac Hamilton. Regular ole Wrigley's Spearmint," he introduced himself, which garnered a laugh from the Americans gathered.

"I appreciate it very much, Mr. Hamilton," she told the chief. "As a matter of fact, that was the first piece I put in my mouth. I figure to have your whole pack chewed by morning." She grinned to show him the neon green gum. It was a point of pride with him and bragging rights.

And it moved him, a strange loop in his belly, a tickle behind his eye, that he'd provided that comfort item to a returning MIA.

"Well, ma'am, the thing is, when the XO said that there was a repatriated pilot and he listed off your sizes, there was several guys who said that they'd lend you stuff. So he kind of just picked a couple things from each one and I brought them over here. Turns out it's a pretty popular size. So you just use what you want to and don't worry none about the rest. You've even got some of the detail stuff-the socks and belts and a cover. We didn't know you needed a cunt cap-" The boy's face turned red as the ranking Americans in the room turned to stare hard at him. He stuttered but kept on going. "Anyway, here you go."

"Thank you, chief," she told him again, rising to accept the offering. "Will you do me one more favor?" He was already nodding. Organs. Hotrods. Bank heists. He'd do anything for the curvy little woman with the dark curls. "I'd love to have a list of names, addresses, of the guys who are helping out. Just so I can say thanks. Maybe have a Mass said for them?"

"You got it, Commander," he bobbed, already backing away. "I'll get that for you right away, ma'am."

"Thank you," she laughed.

Borodin was watching her as she turned, hugging the pale brown material to her chest. "So, what is this 'cunt cap' that the boy says and the officers disapprove?" he asked.

"Disrespect," two of the men said together.

She laughed again, delighted. "A cunt cap is a differently shaped uniform cover. It's the female's cap. Cunt is a typically derogatory term for women. For their..." she lifted her eyebrows and rocked her head to the side.

"Lady face," Jones suggested. "Their caps are kind of..." he gestured with his hands.

Borodin blushed. Melekhin laughed.

"So it was inappropriate for the little twerp to say something like that in front of a lady," Mancuso interrupted. "It's not the hat we disapprove of. It's the expression he used."

"I'm going to go change," Cayes told them, itching to get back into uniform. She allowed herself the liberty of checking out the officer's head. She hadn't had time to use the facilities-first there'd been a hundred people on board to try to avoid, then they'd been beleaguered. She told herself she deserved an air force shower and pulled the cord three times as she scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed. Borodin was in his cabin when she returned to drop the things she'd taken off.

His eyes followed her, wide and appreciative. She had always carried herself well. In this last day or so, when she could walk about openly, he'd seen new confidence in her bearing. And now there was an authority that couldn't be denied. This woman was a power in her country's naval aviation field.

Cayes had found pants that weren't too ungodly long and had opted for a short-sleeved shirt. The one she wore was bare of any rank insignia or medals, but she wore it as though everything she'd earned-including the wings-was resting above her pockets. Her long hair had been wound in an elaborate twist and pinned with clips she'd carried over damn near half of Russia. Her feet still wore the flight boots she'd had on when she crashed. They'd seen better days. But her brass shone and her gig line was straight and she was once more wearing the uniform of her country. She was happy.

"You are beautiful," Borodin told her, standing to meet her halfway.

She shook her head. "You've been at sea too long."

He ignored her, taking her hands in his and lowering his mouth. His kiss was hungry, desperate, although he held his body distant. "I have to get back," he apologized.

She nodded. "Until Ramius is back up to running the deck," she agreed. But she was grateful when he kissed her again, hard and fast. "I'll be right there," she promised. When he was gone she bent, removing the flashlight from her pack. Twisting off the end she shook out the roll of film and two computer chips she'd carried with her for months. Rocking back on her heels she blew the air from her cheeks. The right still ached like a bitch. It was pretty bad to look at, too. But it was almost over. She could start all over and put this behind her.

She tucked the data she planned to turn over into her breast pocket and went to see what was going on up front.

When she caught Vasili's eyes she felt her stomach roll. She wanted to put him in her pocket, too, and keep him. The realization caused her almost physical pain. When she slipped onto the bench beside him she couldn't help reaching for him. His hand was already there, waiting to clutch at hers beneath the tabletop. She looked at the men she'd known so briefly. Did they trust in the American way so much? Ryan had helped. He believed. In everything. Still, there had to be fear there, just as there was fear in her. And she'd only lost her country for a few months! These men were pilgrims-risking everything to seek out a new land, a better place.

"You're my hero," she whispered up to Borodin. He jerked, then turned to her, shaking his head. "I'm really glad I didn't end up in a missile tube-or the freezer," she joked. She used his language without thinking about it.

He laughed. A few of the Russians who heard her laughed as well. "I am, too," he assured her before he turned his attention once more to the movie now playing.


	14. Chapter 14

**Epilogue:**

**SOMETIMES TRUTH LURKS**

"Is there truth to the tale, comrade Melekhin?" Bugayev asked one night as they relaxed in the CIA safehouse.

"Truth?" Melekhin asked. "To what tale?" America had been overwhelming. The television, the books, the magazines. For every truth there was someone shouting its falsehood. Many times over.

"Do you think that the woman was indeed the Captain's child?" he asked. Melekhin regarded him silently so the man explained. "I think that Vasily Borodin is a more faithful man than that-that he would take a stranger to his bed after she'd tried to kill him. Don't you?"

Melekhin shrugged. "She didn't try to kill him. She told the captain that she wanted to pick someone we would defend. And yet someone we would listen to as well. Borodin is a good man. Good officer. Good leader. Good subordinate."

Bugayev nodded. "Still, one wonders...he is not a quiet man. He sleeps rarely and never for long. How could he not have known if the story is as they told it? How easily did they lead us to the tale that was given to Dr. Petrov. This supposed American-she spoke it too well for the Russian to have been a second language. She looks like the Captain as well. Dark. Even her humor. Quick to laugh, but always watching."

Melekhin let out a roar of his own laughter now. "If you were a soldier left behind on a foreign field, would you not watch everything? Would you not make yourself likeable so as to ingratiate yourself to those around you?"

Bugayev shrugged again. "Think what you want, Melekhin, but I stand firm. More there is to this than is known. I trust Vasily Borodin with my life. And his heart is breaking without that woman. Even more than without the sea. And the captain knows it. I think he knew it even then. He always referred to her as Vasily's. As his elfkin. As his bunkmate. But the captain was comfortable with her as well. How many times didn't he invite her to our table? It was never Borodin-always Ramius. And who did she sit beside? Not on the right as a mistress of the house would, but on his left? Always it was _Ramius_. Not even Borodin. Not once."

Melekhin slapped the man on the shoulder. "Perhaps you have something there. Put it down in your journal, mark the date you told me. If you are ever sought for questioning you can point to it and say, 'there, comrade, just as I told you.' Yes?"

Bugayev stubbed out his cigarette. "All right, Melekhin. I can see you don't believe me. But watch. Watch them."  
"I will watch them," Melekhin promised.


End file.
